The Mirror's Dream
I close my eyes and I see you. I see you walk into the room wearing a floral skirt which its flowers fall with each swirl. Your dark hair dances in the waves and stills as your stand in front of the mirror. Dipping your hand into the darkness of the waives, your pale fingers play around in your hair. You close your eyes and it feels as if they are my hands playing around with your dark waves, playing and playing until they bring your eyes to the edges of dream.
From beneath the curls of eyelashes, you look at me, and I shiver.
You close your eyes and I am ready to sleep. This half asleep reflection is beautiful.
You open your eyes and the mirror stares at us.
When your pale fingers leave the dark waves of your hair, I am gone.
The ring of your phones echoes in and out of your head.
Someone, maybe me, is calling your name from the depth of the mirror's dream.
You turn to the phone and I know that you wish that it was me.